My responsibilities are archival in nature. The Department does not intervene in events, nor does it influence their outcomes. We record only the moment when a living thing ceases to live and any circumstances deemed noteworthy for the completeness of the ledger. A small number of entries warrant brief commentary due to their irregular character.

One gentleman in the late nineteenth century attempted postponement through relocation rather than preservation. After receiving medical advice that his condition would likely prove fatal in the colder months, he elected to travel continuously toward warmer climates. For nearly four years he moved south each winter and north again each summer, believing he could indefinitely avoid the seasonal illness that troubled him. The Department notes that he survived several winters longer than anticipated. Ultimately the entry occurred not in winter, but on a warm afternoon in Arizona after an uneventful lunch.

In another case, a rancher in southern Colorado insisted for many years that he would recognize the precise moment of his own departure. He maintained a habit of keeping a notebook in which he attempted to predict the hour each morning. Hundreds of guesses were recorded over two decades. The final page contained the correct date but an incorrect hour. The difference was twenty-three minutes.

A maritime captain once gave strict written instructions that, upon his death, a particular brass compass should be placed in his hands before burial. He believed the instrument had saved his ship during a storm decades earlier and considered it essential for whatever travel followed. The request was honored. The Department's record indicates that the compass needle continued to turn slowly for several hours after the burial party had departed, though the reason for this motion was not established.

There are also occasions in which the final statement of a person proves noteworthy despite the absence of witnesses. In one instance, a schoolteacher who had spent forty years instructing children in arithmetic spoke a final sentence concerning a problem she had once been unable to solve as a young student. She stated the correct solution aloud and appeared satisfied. No record of the problem itself survives.

The Department observes that endings are rarely dramatic from the perspective of those experiencing them. They are more frequently administrative in character: a conversation unfinished, a chair left slightly out of place, a clock continuing its work without alteration.

These matters are entered accordingly.

— D.M.